


It's A Borth

by ohboyohno



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Big Brother Dean, Caring Dean Winchester, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Little Brother Sam, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Parent Dean Winchester, Protective Sibling Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Birthday, Sibling Bonding, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Stubborn Sam Winchester, TSA? they don't know her, because he has his brother!!!, don't hold it against me the devil made me do it, for once sam winchester does not need milk, forehead kisses!!!, happy birthday my boy!!!!, is there a lactation joke in there somewhere? lets not think about that, lets just leave that baggage packed and unclaimed, okay so its just one, please for the love of god, set somewhere in the deep dark depths of season 12, this is a whole lot of tags for a 1k words fic, what i'm trying to say is that dean is protective, yeah its his birthday!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohboyohno/pseuds/ohboyohno
Summary: It's Sam's birthday. Sam is sick.Dean's got this.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	It's A Borth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys/gifts).



“Only you, man.”

“Wha’?” The arm draping over still slightly feverish skin lifted, revealing the sweaty, unshaven face of Sam Winchester beneath. 

“This is literally the first year for as long as I can remember that nothing is actively trying to eat us on your birthday. And what do you do? Catch the flu. I swear it’s almost like you don’t want to eat the cake I slaved over for you.” 

“If it follows any of the same health guidelines as that ‘Elvis’ burger you’ve been trying to get me to eat, then I’m sure I don’t,” he replied, sitting up with a grunt. “And this isn’t even that bad, we can still do whatever it was you had planned.” 

The words, coupled with the sight of his little brother looking like a character straight out of The Walking Dead, had Dean swallowing a grin. It was unreasonably adorable of his brother to have the muscle coordination of a puppet with its strings cut and still be so eager to do whatever Dean wanted, a fact that he will forever take to his grave. 

The poor bastard hadn’t even lasted a day after their last hunt the previous week, one that Dean himself had planned to be their last until after Sam’s birthday. With the seemingly never-ending string of trouble that followed them around, this was the first year where everything seemed to have finally settled down. Jody, Donna, and the girls were fine, Cas was fine, and there were no exceptionally evil forces waiting on the horizon. Even Mom was back, even if she was spending her second chance at life seemingly everywhere but with them. They hadn’t had a chance like this to just shut everything down and celebrate for years now, and Dean would be damned if he let it go to waste. 

Or that was the plan until Sam got the flu out of nowhere and Dean spent the rest of the week playing worried nursemaid with his half-conscious brother. 

“Yeah, no. You’re not getting out of that bed for anything other than your whizzer until I’ve personally cleared you." Dean smirked. "Looks like I’m Dr. Sexy M.d. now.” 

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth in that order or otherwise ever again, so help me God I will bring Amara back and have her kill both of us.”

It was funny, how his brother could go from adorably eager to an annoying pain the ass in the span of a second. “Dude, for the last time, delirious and bitchy is not a good look on you. Or anyone, for that matter.” 

“I’m gonna pass out so I don’t have to stay in this conversation. Wake me up when it’s time for us to go.” 

That was not happening. Even if Sam could hold up a conversation, that didn’t mean he was ready for the night out Dean had planned. Bars and girls were the extents of Dean’s experience with anything resembling a party, but right now, that would be enough to throw Sam back in bed for another week. On second thought, Sam probably wouldn’t even enjoy those things anyway. Sure, Dean liked to prod and pretend, but he was well aware of how his and his brother’s definitions of “fun” differed. 

In a fit of inspiration, he hurried to get out the door. 

“Yeah, not happening. Night, bitch.” 

Neither the pillow nor the closing of the door could mute the exasperated “jerk” that sounded in his wake. 

Two hours and one and a half trips to the store (“How did I forget the milk?! I only went to the store in the first place to get the milk! Son of a-”) later, Dean pried open the bunker door, only to find the sleeping, suspiciously clean, and well-dressed form of his brother waiting below in the War Room. He cursed softly and hurried down the stairs, immediately knowing the idiot’s well intentions. It took a single echo of his step on the War Room floor to jolt Sam awake so fast, he only just managed not to fall out of his chair. 

“-wake, I’m awake!” he claimed, sounding the exact opposite. Dean huffed, settling the bags down on the floor and making his way toward his brother.

“Oh good, then you can explain why you’re still trying to go rogue.” 

“De’, you know you’re not actually a doctor, right? You just watch one on TV. I told you, I'm fine.” The mix of his congested nose and clearly still sore throat did nothing for the stubborn air he was aiming for. 

“Well, you don’t even do that, so you don’t get to talk. Now go on,” he emphasized with a nudge to stand and a gentle shove toward the bedrooms, “Go put on something comfortable and pick a movie. We’re dining in tonight.” 

The moment Sam nodded his disgruntled acquiescence and started walking back, Dean was already scrambling to the kitchen to prepare. 

Twenty minutes later found Sam and Dean Winchester both half-sitting, half-laying down on Sam’s bed, plates of homemade chocolate cake in hand and looking the perfect mix of irritation and contentment. 

“It’s your turn.” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s your turn. You and I both know it is your turn.”

“Oh no, last time was my turn, which is why I got up and then had to watch The Princess Bride for the thousandth time, and now by law, you have to get up and put on what I want.” 

“Who made this law?”

“Whoever made up the idea of turns, how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Oh my bad, you act like such a know-it-all all the time I just assumed.” 

“Just for that, we’re watching Forensic Files reruns next.”

“Alright, Samantha, no need to rub in your weird serial killer fetish.” 

Getting up with an unintelligible grumble, Dean made his way to the tv stand and put in the DVD from Sam’s old collection. They probably could have been using Netflix this entire time, everything seemed to be on there these days, but it was a fit of nostalgia that prompted them to go searching through the old collection of movies and TV shows that they’d acquired over the years and watched together hundreds of times as their form of downtime. Each of these disks held a rare memory of almost perfect normalcy. Of more often than not, two brothers sprawled over each other, bickering meaninglessly. 

Turning back, it was clear that no matter what Sam kept insisting, he was still sick and tiring out fast. It was only about fifteen minutes after the show started and Dean settled back in his spot when Sam’s head dipped tiredly into the dip of his shoulder. Moving with earned ease, Dean instinctually slipped his arm behind his brothers back, turning him even more toward himself and settling back against the headboard, content to be used as a pillow for the rest of the night. He pressed a dry kiss to his brother’s scalp, whispering a soft “Happy birthday. Goodnight, Bitch” into the shaggy hair. 

This time, there was no reply. 

(And no hunts for another week either. What, was Dean supposed to somehow magically take care of his brother and not get sick himself? Fuck off.)


End file.
